


Ties that Bind

by the_twilit_files



Series: What We Became [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Issues, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_twilit_files/pseuds/the_twilit_files
Summary: Companion piece to What We Became but can be read as a stand alone. Tom Riddle was hardly father of the year. Charlotte had always known that, but finds it hard to reconcile the truth with what she remembers from her childhood, even after witnessing the horror he unleashes on the world, including her own family.
Series: What We Became [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728814
Kudos: 2





	1. 1948

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to my fic "What We Became."

Entering the small flat, Tom hastily locked the door and waved his wand to close the window. He slipped the items out of his coat pocket, briefly admiringly them before securing them in his trunk. He finally had them: Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup. Now he could leave his mundane job at Borgin and Burke’s and look for Ravenclaw’s diadem. The ghost had told him almost the precise location of where she had dropped it. Feeling triumphant, he poured a shot of firewhiskey. That’s when he saw the letter that had been shoved under his door.

Taking two long strides, he walked across the bare apartment and retrieved the letter.It was addressed to him and had come through the muggle post. Flipping it over, he saw it was from the orphanage. _Odd_ , he thought. Why would they write to him? He sat against the wall in disbelief as he read the letter. _This can’t be possible_.

* * *

Lucy Ravenfeld had been a peer of Tom’s at Hogwarts. They were both Slytherins and in the same year, though he had never paid much attention to her until their sixth year. There was a lull in his research. He had traced his roots and disposed of them the previous summer. He was focused on creating seven horcruxes, but was searching for the right objects. He’d decided on using the founder’s mementos. However, that had brought him right back to the genealogy section of the library.

It was Christmas break of 1941 and, as usual, he had stayed at Hogwarts. That year, she had too.She first caught his attention because it was unusual for the pureblood students in his house to stay behind. It was even more unusual for members of his house to spend their free time in the library. Some of them may have possessed mild intelligence, but most of it was devoted to scheming and creating witty retorts.Curious, he approached her.

Within a few minutes of speaking with her, he found she was more intelligent than he had initially thought. However, she wasn’t anything particularly special. Sure, she was attractive with her bright blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and slight figure. But she also began acting like all the other girls the more they talked: flirty and foolish.It had not been hard to seduce her, nor had it been difficult to get rid of her. He hadn’t thought of her again once classes resumed.

* * *

He stood across the street from the orphanage, watching the children play in the yard.There were fewer children than when he had lived here. The letter had said they were closing the orphanage, so he supposed the low number of children should have been expected. He was surprised Lucy hadn’t approached him about this before, but found he was more interested in how she had learned about this place.Tom noticed one of the smaller girls standing off to the side. She looked a little unsure of how to interact with the others, though they did not seem to be excluding her.

Tom wasn’t sure why he’d come. He didn’t care what happened to the child. He supposed he was only curious. The place hadn’t changed much in the few years since he’d been gone.Everything was grey: grey buildings, grey streets, and grey fences.The play area was mostly dead grass and discarded toys. He sighed, pushing himself off the wall, deciding to get it over with. He crossed the street and noticed the small girl join the others in a game of tag.

A young woman not much older than him answered the door. Her red hair was falling out of the ponytail and she looked exhausted. Her surprise at seeing him soon gave way to embarrassment over her messy appearance.

“Can I help you?” she asked, regaining some of her composure.

“I received a letter from Mrs. Cole. She asked to speak to me about a child residing here.”

A look of distress passed through her eyes. “Are you Mr. Riddle?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, growing more impatient by the moment.

“Mrs. Cole’s just stepped out, but if you follow me I have all the paperwork she wanted you to look over.”

He sighed irritably but followed her in just the same.They walked through the small entryway and up the narrow flight of stairs. It was a familiar walk for Tom. He had been called to Cole’s office more than once when he’d lived here.The girl paused to unlock the office door, stepping aside to let him in.

“All the paperwork is on the desk. You can look it over while I go fetch the girl.”

He began to say that wouldn’t be necessary, but she closed the door before he could get a word out. He sat in the visitor’s chair and picked up the envelope labeled with his name: It was from Lucy. Deciding it would give him something to do while he waited, he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

_May 19, 1948_

_Riddle,_

_I’m sure you have many questions, but the answers are irrelevant.Simply know that you are not the only one capable of extensive research, which is why I have left our daughter at your former “home.”_

_At some point or another, I reckon you noticed my absence from Hogwarts. Once my family found out I was pregnant, they disowned me and I was forced to leave school.While I may not have shown the best decision making skills that Christmas, I promise I am not a complete dunce._

_You see I became ill not long ago. Exiled from the magical world, I went to a muggle clinic.Their doctors told me I had cancer. I was told it could be fatal without treatment, which is expensive. I could not afford it, rent, and care for Charlotte, our daughter. I could not find a magical remedy for it either, only potions for temporary pain relief. I left Charlotte at the orphanage when I could no longer care for her._

_Charlotte was born September 13, 1942. She is five years old. Tom, I am under no delusion that you have any interest in being a father.Therefore, I have only one thing to ask of you.I need you to find her a family that will love her. I don’t care if they’re muggle or magical.I know you have ways of making things happen, no questions asked. Use whatever means necessary to find her a suitable home._

_Please take care of her and give her my love._

_Lucy Ravenfeld_

Tom had barely finished reading when there was a quiet knock on the door. Without thinking, he said, “Enter.”

“Hello, sir,” a quiet voice said. Tom turned to see the young girl from the yard.Unlike most children at the orphanage, she had a neat appearance. Her dark dress and shoes, though old, were clean and her hair was combed (he suspected the woman who led him to the office had combed it before sending in the girl). “Miss Wesley said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes,” he said hesitantly.He had never been comfortable talking to children, not even when he’d been one.“Do you know who I am?”

“Miss Wesley said your name was Mr. Riddle and you’re a friend of my mum’s,” she said. “Have you come to take me to visit her? Auntie Jane usually takes me to the cemetery.”

“Auntie Jane?” Tom asked, confused.

“She and Mummy worked together. Are we going to see her?” The girl sounded oddly enthused about visiting a cemetery. Tom reckoned this Jane person also took her do something fun while they were out.

“Charlotte, how long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to count on her fingers.“It feels like forever, but Mrs. Cole says it’s only been a few weeks.”

“And why are you here and not with Auntie Jane?”

“She’s sick too, but not the same sick as Mum.”

Tom took a moment to really look at the girl. Being only five, it was difficult for him to decide who she looked like more. They had both been pale, but she did have his dark hair and eyes. Her long dark hair even had a slight curl to it like his did if it grew too much.Though when he looked closely, he could see a much younger version of Lucy.

“Go pack your things and meet me downstairs,” he said, surprising himself.“We’ll go see your mother, but you won’t be coming back here.”

“Where will I be going?” she asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

“You’re going to live with me.”

* * *

Tom stood at the end of the row of graves.She was talking rather animatedly to a plain stone plaque in the ground.He couldn’t explain to himself what he was doing with the girl. His plans did not accommodate her tagging along.Besides, his enemies could try to use his daughter against him, and that would become such an annoying hindrance. But she was a part of him and a descendent of Slytherin. He couldn’t think of any kind of person who had the right to raise a descendent of Slytherin besides himself.

“Charlotte! It’s time to go!” he called. He needed to get out of the country tonight. She got up immediately and waved good-bye to the headstone. _Well, at least she’s obedient_ , he thought. As she walked to him, he noticed her twirling around a weed she probably thought was a flower.

_What am I doing with a child?_

“Where are we going?” she asked, stopping next to him.

“Somewhere new,” he said, picking her up. “Have you ever apparated before with your mother?”

She gave him a blank look and shook her head.

“Er, been somewhere one minute and somewhere else the next,” he said, trying to simplify the concept, a task he found frustrating.

“Is that the one where there’s a loud pop?”

“Yes. Did your mother travel that way with you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s how we’re going to travel. You’ll be uncomfortable for an only moment, but there’s no reason to be upset or cry about it, understand?”

“Mmhmm,” she said, though she looked nervous and clung tighter to him.

Tom stiffened. He hated contact with other people. His natural instinct was to pull away, but he realized he would have to tolerate it a bit if he was going to have a child around. He turned on the spot and apparated to the small cottage in the middle of a forest in Albania. There was a village several miles away that he could go to for provisions, but far enough away that no one would bother him. The cottage and its location reminded him of the Gaunts’ house; however, it was in much better condition.

He set down the girl on the living room floor, feeling a little lightheaded. Wizards weren’t supposed to apparate longdistances like that, but had been worth the risk. The feeling passed quickly and, as he observed the cottage, he realized he needed to make some adjustments. With a wave of his wand, he restructured the house to create a second bedroom and replicated his bedroom furniture so the girl would have somewhere to sleep. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shivering next to him. He pointed his wand at the fireplace where a roaring fire sprung to life.

Another wave of dizziness washed over him. Perhaps the journey had been a bit straining. Still, he had work to do, such as ensuring the girl wasn’t going to hinder his plans.

“Come Charlotte,” he said, setting her bag against the couch. “Let’s have some dinner.”


	2. Reflections in 1980

_October 1950_

_Father is taking me on his search in the woods today! He said I’m big enough to help him with some of his work. I hope I find whatever it is he’s looking for! He’ll be so pleased if I do…._

* * *

_Present Day (Sometime in 1980)_

Looking back Charlotte couldn’t believe her father had ever thought including a child in his work was acceptable. He would never win any father of the year awards, but she would have expected a man of his intelligence to have a little more common sense than that.

However, their days spent scouring the Albanian forest remained one of her fondest memories from the time she spent with her father. Charlotte remembered stumbling through the woods after father, often struggling to keep up with him. She had always viewed their outings as an adventure into unknown lands, which they were in a sense. Her father usually restricted her to the cottage, claiming it was unsafe for her to associate with the muggle children. Later, she would learn it was his prejudice and not her safety that made him strict. But at the time, she believed whatever he told her.

She recalled this particular outing rather clearly as she pursued her old diary. He’d claimed she was going with him as a reward for doing well her in studies. Not that she had a choice to do anything but well with how he acted when she took too long to catch on to things. Or asked questions. The first two rules of life with Tom Riddle: Don’t ask questions and don’t fail. While his punishments had never been physical, they were still something she wished to avoid at all costs. Regardless, she had been thrilled to have been invited to go with him.

It had been unusually warm day for late October, making the search seem more perfect to her. Sunlight streamed down between the fall-colored leaves as Charlotte alternated between stopping to inspect a plant or small animal and running after her father. Occasionally, he’d call to her, reminding her to stay close. She really couldn’t fathom why he’d taken her with him between not even knowing what they were looking for and her habit of wandering.

Perhaps, she thought, there’d been a part of him that did care about her. Charlotte squashed the thought. There was no point in thinking about what he may have felt about her. It didn’t change the fact that he was a monster or make his actions less evil. In fact, it might have made them worse.

Charlotte would often make up scenarios and imaginary friends on these treks. It didn’t compensate for the loneliness she felt, but it kept her distracted. On this day, she’d been a magizoologist searching for rare magical creatures.

At some point during their walk, she’d caught the sound of flowing water. Imagination getting the best of her, she thought she might truly find a magical aquatic animal. The sound from the running water was loud, so she thought it might be close by. She could sneak away for just a minute to see if anything was there and come right back. Her father would probably never notice.

She’d come upon the river quickly enough, feeling both intrigued and nervous at its size and speed. Charlotte, always wanting to prove herself to her father, ignored her trepidation. She wasn’t going swimming after all. And if she did find something, then maybe it would be useful to her father and he wouldn’t be upset with her for straying from him. Charlotte slid down the steep embankment, hoping for a better look.

The river was void of any animal life, magical and normal. Charlotte decided to walk a little further, though, just in case. Along the way, she came across boulders and fallen logs. Like any seven-year-old, she climbed up on the nearest boulder and began hopping from one to another, completely forgetting about her search. Her fun came to an abrupt end when she landed poorly on a boulder and fell to the ground.

At first, she thought she was fine, just a little bruised. Then she tried to stand and, with a scream, discovered she’d hurt her right ankle more severely than she’d thought. She must have landed wrong on the boulder, which caused her to fall.

Tears streamed down her face. Her ankle throbbed as she frantically tried to figure out a way up the embankment. There was no way she could walk back up it. Maybe she could crawl up it, she thought. She tried. And tried. And tried. But each time she reached the halfway point, Charlotte slid back down it, and even the crawling agitated her ankle. Finally, she gave up and cried. She was stuck.

As the sunlight began to fade, Charlotte’s fear increased. She had believed her father would find her, but he had yet to show. What if he couldn’t? What if he didn’t want to? Maybe he was too mad or too disappointed to look for her.

Just as she was about to give up all hope, she heard it. Someone screaming her name.

“CHARLOTTE!”

She called back, hoping he could hear her over the noise from the river. Soon, she saw him sprinting out of the woods, an unfamiliar expression on his face. He was down the embankment in a second, so fast Charlotte thought he’d flown down, and was assessing her ankle before she could even feel relieved about being found. Wordlessly, he healed her ankle and picked her up, balancing her on his hip as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered.

Surprisingly, his anger seemed to dissipate. “I’ve told you not to wander off,” he said sternly.

“I know,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to go so far.”

“Do you understand why I don’t want you to do that?”

“Because it’s not safe?” she offered.

“Because there are people who would hurt you to get to me, and we can’t let that happen. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. She didn’t. She didn’t know why his work would make him or her a target. But she knew what he wanted to hear, and that was all that mattered. He gave her a reassuring squeeze and she relaxed.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” he sighed.

“Will you go out tomorrow?”

“No, maybe the next day.” Normally, he would have told her not to ask questions about his work, but wasn’t bothered by her inquisitiveness for once.

“Will you still take me out with you?”

“If you’re good,” he said.

“Ok,” she said, brightening. He hadn’t said ‘no’ which meant he wasn’t too mad.

* * *

Charlotte didn’t have to think too hard about why this particular incident stood out to her. It was one of the few times he was almost kind. It would surprise many, but Tom Riddle was rarely intentionally cruel to his daughter. Usually, his attitude toward had been something between indifferent and tolerant. Of course, she hadn’t realized that when she was young; too trusting and inexperienced to be anything but a devoted daughter.

The only other memory that stuck out like that was Christmas morning later that year. Tom had woken her up early, bundled her in winter outerwear, and taken her outside. They didn’t celebrate Christmas, so even though Charlotte knew it was an exciting day to others thanks to the few excursions into the visits she’d been permitted to accompany him on, she had no idea why he was waking her up so early.

When she saw what was outside their front door, she was so glad he’d woken her up. She almost squealed, but managed to not. She didn’t want to frighten the beautiful white unicorn and its golden foal away. He’d handed her a bowl of sugar cubes and let her cross the yard to feed them. The mother only hesitated a second before accepting a sugar cube and permitting her foal to do the same. Tom hung back in the doorway, either because he had no interest in them or because he knew unicorns were generally wary of men. Still, he supervised the whole exchange when he could have gone inside.

The unicorns allowed Charlotte to pet them while they ate. They were out there for about fifteen minutes before Tom called Charlotte back inside. Despite her layers, it was still the middle of winter and her fingers were starting to go numb. She pat the unicorns good-bye before happily skipping over to her father.

“Did you see how pretty they were?” she asked, as he let them inside.

“Yes,” he said, helping her out of her cloak and taking the bowl from her. “Go get a blanket and sit in front of the fire. I’ll let you eat your breakfast in the living room.”

That day had been the closest to a real Christmas that she ever had with her father. Not only had he let her see the unicorns but he’d also surprised her with a grey kitten. She remembered how she’d been begging him for a pet for months, promising she’d never ask to play with the village children again if he got her one.

Shadow, as she’d cleverly named him, had been her constant companion from the age of seven to twenty-five. He’d been with her at Hogwarts, when she moved in with her grandmother, and when she moved in with her husband. Losing him had been harder than when her father abandoned her or when her grandmother passed. It was odd that such a cruel man would give her something that, she believed, genuinely loved her. 

It was almost as if he was trying to make up for all the pain he’d cause her in the future. Or it would have if he’d ever had a heart.


	3. 1952 through the Hogwarts years

_August 1952_

_Father lied to me. He said Mummy’s parents wanted to meet me. He brought me to visit them and said he’d be back in a day. But it’s been three days! Grandmother says he’s not coming back. That I’m going to live with them now. But I don’t want to stay here! The house is too big and cold. And my grandparents are mean. I don’t think they like me…._

* * *

Charlotte was nine when she was sent to live with her grandparents. Her father had disguised the ordeal as a trip to get to know her mother’s parents. He’d said they felt bad about not being there when her mum died and wanted to make up for it. Charlotte had been nervous when they’d first arrived at the old manor, a feeling that only grew during their chilly reception of her. Her dread of the visit only increased when she found out her father would not be staying with them. He had “important business” to do while they were back in England.

When he didn’t show up on the first day, she’d been worried and asked her grandmother if they should look for him. The old woman had waved her off, saying his work was taking him longer than he had planned. Her heart had sunk a little. Charlotte wanted her father to save her from her cold and distant grandparents. She had no idea why they insisted she visit. She only saw them at meal times and they never had anything to say to her.

Charlotte repeated her inquiry after Tom on the second and third morning of her stay. It was that last morning when her grandmother finally broke down and told her the truth: Her father wasn’t coming back. He wanted her to live with them and be a part of the wizarding world…. Her grandmother droned on with explaining why he wasn’t coming back, but Charlotte wasn’t listening any longer.

He wasn’t coming back. Her father had left her in this horrible house, alone. He didn’t want her anymore.

She felt a pain in her chest she couldn’t quite explain. Tears streaming down her face, she’d run up to her bedroom and collapsed on the bed. She sobbed for hours, trying to think of what she had done to upset him enough to make him abandon her. But she couldn’t think of anything. She’d been so good lately. Eventually, Charlotte calmed down, though she didn’t get out of bed to join her grandparents for lunch or dinner. She stayed on her bed, absently petting Shadow, who had curled up next to her in an effort to comfort her.

After the sun had set, her grandmother came in, carrying a silver tray that was stacked with food. She set on the nightstand before turning to observe the sad girl on the bed. With a sigh, she sat down and began stroking Charlotte’s hair.

“I’m sorry about earlier, dear,” she said, her voice unusually gentle. “I’ve never been very good with children. But I think that’s enough sulking for one day, yes? Why don’t you sit up and try to eat something. It might make you feel better.

Sniffling, Charlotte did as instructed, though she wasn’t hungry. “W-why di-did he leave me?”

“Because,” her grandmother started and then paused, weighing her words. “Because his priorities are a mess. I should know. Mine were too, but I’ll do better with you. I promise you’ll be happy here.”

Charlotte had no idea what her grandmother was talking about. But she did notice a change in her grandmother’s behavior toward her over the next few days. Her grandfather remained cold and distant, but Charlotte learned to ignore him. He only came out of his study to eat anyway. She was still upset about her father, but her grandmother kept her busy.

She spent a lot of time with the grandchildren of her grandmother’s friends. By the time Charlotte went to Hogwarts, she had a handful of good friends. She was sorted into Ravenclaw, which made her grandmother proud. Charlotte was just glad to have some distance between her and her father — not that anyone would have connected to him to her. They’d legally changed her last name from Riddle to Ravenfeld before she started school. Her absence was explained by a lie, of course. They said her mother had married a foreigner and they had disappeared to somewhere in Italy. Her father had raised her after Lucy died but also became sick and could no longer care for her; so he sent her to live with them.

Lying, in general, didn’t bother Charlotte as much as it others. Unsurprisingly, she was rather proficient when she needed to be. But, sometimes, it bothered her how much she had to lie about who she was. She liked her life now, and didn’t want to lose it. But Charlotte couldn’t pretend she didn’t miss her father and the cottage, or that his silence didn’t hurt.

As she grew older, her pain turned into resentment. It only increased when she found a letter from her mother to her father. She had been snooping in her grandmother’s desk, looking for some extra money to buy new dress robes. She wasn’t sure why he had kept or given it to her grandmother, but the contents made her furious. Her mother hadn’t wanted him to keep her. She wanted him to find Charlotte a home, a permanent home. So why hadn’t he? Why keep her only to give her away in the end?

Even when he was long gone from her life, his actions continued to vex her.

* * *

The next time Charlotte saw her father, she was seventeen. The incident was one of her worst memories of him.

She’d come home for Christmas break as she always did. She couldn’t stand for her grandmother to be alone over the holiday. Plus, going home had been much more enjoyable since her grandfather’s death five years earlier. He’d never warmed up to her. So for the first three years Charlotte lived with them, she’d made herself as scarce as possible. His passing had been more of a reason to celebrate than mourn, even for her grandmother.

She’d gone out one evening with friends who lived nearby. It was late when she returned, and was surprised to find the lights in the sitting room still on. Usually, her grandmother left the stairwell lit and went to bed. Charlotte always came home and never got into real trouble; her grandmother never worried too much. Curious, Charlotte had gone to the sitting room to see if she all right.

She had not been expecting the hooded figure sitting on the couch, drink from one of the rose-patterned teacups. Her grandmother was sitting stiffly in her favorite armchair across from the man. She was trying to stay composed, but Charlotte could see the fear in her eyes.

Silently, Charlotte observed the stranger. His hands were eerily pale and she could swear something red was shinning from under his hood. Though he hadn’t spoken or done anything, his appearance was enough to sound off an inner warning. Nervously, she took a step backward.

“Er, sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

“We were waiting for you, actually. Please join us,” the man said, motioning to the empty armchair next to her grandmother. Charlotte looked at her grandmother, who nodded that she should comply. She moved to take her seat, glad she had her wand on her.

“Your grandmother’s been telling me about your academic and social successes. I’m very pleased to hear it. I was worried for nothing.”

“Why would anything I do concern you?” she asked, not caring that she was being rude.

“Why wouldn’t a father be concerned about his daughter?” He lowered his hood as he spoke, reveling a twisted version of her father’s face. Startled, she jumped in her chair, causing it to slide back up a few inches.

“Who are you?” she demanded, refusing to believe what she saw.

“I’m your father, Charlotte,” he said, standing up. “You know that.”

“I don’t have a father. He’s dead,” she snapped.

“I don’t have time for your teenage angst, child. We have work to do,” he said, unaffected by her anger.

“No, we don’t have anything to do. I don’t want anything to do with you!”

“That is not how you speak to me,” he hissed, his tone turned threatening. “You should listen to what I have to say. I’ll only offer this once.”

“I don’t want anything from you. And I don’t want to be a part of your uprising!” She felt herself becoming more angry and frustrated by the second. He had no right to be here, to intrude upon her life now.

“So you are more intelligent than you’re acting.”

“I remember what those people called you. There are all kinds of rumors going around. I’m not stupid!”

“Charlotte,” her grandmother said, her voice trembling. “Perhaps you should sit down, and listen to what your father has to say.”

“What?” Charlotte turned to her in disbelief. “How can you even suggest that?! He abandoned me and ignored me for eight years! I have a life and he’s not a part of it!” She was screaming, tears streaking down her face. She turned back to Tom, looking him straight in red-glowing eyes. “Just leave me alone!”

She turned to leave, to run away, but felt herself pulled back by her upper arm. Tom spun her around and pushed her onto the couch, raising his wand in the process.

“That’s enough!” her grandmother shouted. The fear was gone from her voice and eyes. Seeing Charlotte in danger had provoked her protective nature. She may look old and frail, but Charlotte’s grandmother was still a fearsome force to reckon with. She stood up and moved to stand between them. “You two need some time. We will all go to bed, and resume this conversation in the morning.”

“You presume to tell me —”

“I presume nothing. This is my house and I will not have you harm my granddaughter anymore. You’ve done enough damage as it is.”

Charlotte and Tom remained silent, glaring at each other. Charlotte was the first to break with a grumbled “fine.” She stomped off to her room, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Why did he have to come back now? Everything in her life was going so well. She was even getting married in August. Some people thought she was too young, but it wasn’t that unusual.

Benjamin Thorn was from a very old, very rich Pureblood family. The marriage was arranged, but Charlotte had spent some time with him. He was kind and smart, though maybe a bit arrogant at times. Most people from Pureblood families were, so it wasn’t something she couldn’t manage. He was also rather quiet. Charlotte was not sure if that was his nature, or he was just shy around her, but he had not spoken to her a lot.

She supposed what had endeared him most to her was when she saw him stand up against a seventh-year Slytherin who had been jinxing some first year Hufflepuffs. She was so used to everyone minding their own business and looking out for themselves that his actions had shocked her.

Sighing, Charlotte pushed herself off her door, which she had been leaning against, and began getting ready for bed. As she crawled under the blankets, she hoped with all of her being that her father would be gone in the morning.


	4. 1960 and beyond

_December 1960_

_It’s been eight years and my father showed up on Christmas Eve. No note, no warning, nothing. Part of me wants to demand an explanation from him, but a bigger part hopes to wake up tomorrow to find he’s left …._

* * *

Charlotte lay in bed the next morning, listening to the rain hit the window. She stayed in bed for a half hour before forcing herself to get up. She grabbed her robe from the back of her desk chair. Her grandmother preferred for her be dressed for the day before breakfast, but she felt like she deserved a break today. It was a bit odd, actually, that her grandmother had not come to get her yet. It was past ten in the morning; Grandmother never let her sleep this late.

As she descended the stairs, she noticed the mansion was unusually cold. It was fairly drafty in the winter, but she couldn’t remember it ever being like this. It was as if the whole house was a freezer. When she reached the main level, she saw none of the fires had been started. She felt a chill run through her that had nothing to do with the cold: Something was wrong. She found herself wishing she had grabbed her wand from her nightstand. She turned to go retrieve it, but stopped halfway when she heard a series of hissing sounds come from the dining room.

She knew what those sounds meant. It may have been a few years, but she could understand them. More importantly, she knew her father had done something. She remembered that he had a habit of slipping into Parseltongue whenever he was planning. When she was little, she used to think it was for something good because of how pleased he would be. She knew better now. She’d heard whispers of her father’s movements over the years, despite her grandmother’s attempt to shield her from them. But Charlotte had heard of the disappearances, unsolvable murders (at least by muggle law enforcement), and strange floating, green skulls.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the dining room. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt her, but she couldn’t. She’d long since come to the realization that he didn’t love her and any interest he ever showed her was only in the context of what she could do for him.

She stopped inside the doorway of the dining room. The curtains were pulled aside, letting in the natural light. The room felt colder than the hallway. She glanced at fireplace and noticed it was empty. A small movement caught her eye. When she saw what it was, she had to stop herself from stepping away. On the dining table, a large snake was curled in on itself, probably trying to keep warm. The thing hissed angrily at her, causing a low chuckle to erupt from behind it.

She didn’t know how she had not seen him before. Her father sat at the head of the table, staring at her expectantly. Only he did not look like her father. He still had the dark hair; though it seemed to be thinning and flecks of grey were visible. If it was possible, he was thinner than before and his face was…snakelike. His nose was flatter and his eyes were red and appeared to be more reptilian than human. He was smirking, an action that unnerved her further.

“What have you done?” she asked, the evenness of her voice surprising her.

“This?” he said, gesturing to his face. “Just a side effect of my growing power.”

“That’s not what I meant. What did you do?” she asked again, the feeling of dread growing.

“Your grandmother defied my orders. Her failure made her useless.”

“What you did!” she said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were watering and she was fighting to keep back the tears, knowing they’d only encourage him.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, clearly bored. “She’s simply sleeping.”

“I don’t believe you,” Charlotte spat.

“You used to. I suppose this your grandmother’s influence?”

“What if it is?” she snapped

“I see allowing you to go to Hogwarts was a mistake,” his tone was calm, but she heard the danger.

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose if you wanted me to be a mindless drone, then, yes, sending me to Hogwarts was a mistake,” she said. She saw his fists clench and knew she should stop, but making him angry and trying to hurt him were much more appealing at the moment.

“He knows, you know.”

Curiosity briefly flitted across Tom’s face and he relaxed his fists slightly.

“Dumbledore knows you’re my father. I think he suspected when I started; something about me must have been too similar. He kept a close eye on me, but he never said anything until this past October when I was called to his office for the first time in my whole Hogwarts career. He was kind, asked me how classes were, and how my grandmother was doing. Then, he told me that Tom Riddle had been there the previous night, asking for a job. He knew, but my silence and lack of confusion at the mention of Tom Riddle — who no one seems to remember — confirmed it.”

“I told you to never —”

“He’s done nothing; told no one. He hasn’t asked for information. He simply said he was sorry, and I know he meant he was sorry I was stuck with you for a parent. Because what kind of parent abandons their child, travels all the way to their school, but doesn’t bother to see them?!”

“Are you finished?” he hissed, getting to his feet.

_No,_ she thought, but fell silent anyway. He stalked around the table, slowly making his way toward her. He didn’t say anything, even when he stopped a few feet in front of her. He simply stood in front of her, glaring. She reckoned he was trying to intimidate her, but she was too angry. The silence between them lasted several minutes. Charlotte began to calm down, which was stupid since her father could still torture or kill her.

“I would not do either of those things to you, Charlotte,” he said, his voice softer than she would have ever expected.

“Stay out of my head,” she said, folding her arms in front her, her anger returning.

“You should be practicing your occlumency. I wouldn’t be able to access your mind so easily if you were,” he chastised.

“Why are you here?” she asked, ignoring the reprimand.

“Your grandmother tells me you’ve done very well in your studies, not that I’d expect anything less,” he added. “She also says you’ll be married this summer after you finish school.”

“Like a proper Pureblood,” she deadpanned.

“Not entirely,” he said, sitting down across from her. “A proper Pureblood wouldn’t sit passively by while mudbloods taint our bloodlines and force us to live in secrecy.”

“There it is,” she muttered. “So what should I be doing? Killing my schoolmates between classes?”

“You shouldn’t be wasting time on wedding plans,” he continued, ignoring her comment. “You should be figuring out who among your connections, and those of your _fiancé_ , are willing to support the cause.”

“I see,” she said, working to hide her disappointment. “That’s why you’ve come? You want me to recruit young witches and wizards to your campaign.”

She was so stupid. Despite all her anger, a tiny part of Charlotte had hoped he was here to see her. But she was just another pawn in his game. The only thing that mattered to him was his mission to eradicate all non-Purebloods and rule over the muggles.Her father’s ideology was nothing she hadn’t heard. Several of her peers, those in Slytherin and other houses, shared it. In fact, she could probably bring about twenty people to her father’s cause with little to no effort.

If only she was interested in helping.

“I can’t recruit people for you,” she said, working to maintain a neutral exterior. “There’s the wedding and my N.E.W.T.’s exams, plus there’s no way I could manage this under Dumbledore’s nose. He would find out and I could be expelled.”

“I managed to find and open the Chamber of Secrets without him figuring it out,” Voldemort countered. “I reckon, with some discretion, you would be able to find a few trustworthy students.”

“Surely you remember how the gossip is at Hogwarts. I would be questioned if even a whisper reached Dumbledore, and you’ve just seen how bad I am with occlumency. It’s better for you if I don’t get involved,” she added, feigning concern.

“Charlotte,” he started, scrutinizing her as he spoke. “Are you refusing to help me out of some teenage rebellion? Or are you refusing to help because you don’t believe in my efforts?”

She broke eye contact. Honestly, she had never truly considered her feelings on the matter. Thanks to both her father and grandmother, Charlotte often acted superior to others from time to time. However, that didn’t mean she thought the muggleborns should be kept from magic or the muggles needed to be ruled. She certainly didn’t think anyone deserved to die because of their blood status.

“This is your only opportunity to join me,” Voldemort warned, growing impatient.

Charlotte bit her lip, hesitating. She knew her answer, and knew what it would cost her. But was she really losing anything? Meeting her father’s gaze, she said, “I won’t help you.”

Rage momentarily flashed across his face before he composed himself. He called the snake over to him and stood up with it draped over his shoulders.

“I’ll respect your choice,” he said coldly, pausing on his way out of the room. “But from now on, you are not my daughter.”

“Was I ever?” she whispered to herself as she listened to his footsteps echo down the hallway. There was a tight knot in her stomach that she tried to ignore.

“Merlin’s beard, it’s cold in here,” her grandmother said, pulling her dressing robe tighter around her as she entered the dining room. “Is _he_ gone?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, sounding calmer than she felt. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.”

“Good,” her grandmother said smugly. “He may be your father, but I’ve never liked him.”

“Well, then let’s forget all about him,” Charlotte said, an unnatural perkiness in her voice and manner. She stood up and looped arms with her grandmother. “What should we have for breakfast?”

* * *

Ben and Charlotte were married the August following their graduation of Hogwarts. Ben went on to work at the Ministry, as did Charlotte for a little while. She left when they had their first child, Cecil, and decided to stay home to care of Cecil and the three children that followed: Benjamin Jr., Thomas, and Lilith. In addition to raising four children, Charlotte was involved in numerous charity and community groups — a handful of which were devoted to helping victims of a mysterious yet growing group of violent wizards known as the Death Eaters. They were the picture of a healthy family: loving, devoted parents with children who got along (mostly) and did well in school.

Their lives did not remain picture-perfect, however. Charlotte lost both Cecil and Tom to Death Eaters. Unable to sit by and do nothing, both had joined the effort to fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Ben Sr. died of a heart attack not long after their deaths. Blinded by rage and grief, Charlotte alienated both of her remaining children and missed the signs that her youngest, Lilith, sympathized with Voldemort’s movement. Too late, Charlotte realized Lilith had joined the very group that had killed two of her siblings.

Eventually, Charlotte repaired her relationship with Ben Jr. and his wife, Prudence. Lilith, however, did not reappear in their lives until after the Potter boy defeated Voldemort. She showed up with a baby girl, claiming to have been widowed recently. Having no proof of her involvement with the Death Eaters, Charlotte and her son decided to let the past be and welcome Lilith and the girl, Anya, into their lives.

After all, family sticks together.


End file.
